


Kitty Boy & Princess

by LittleIdazle



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Cuddling, DJWifi, F/M, Kissing, Marichat, Snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleIdazle/pseuds/LittleIdazle
Summary: A series of drabbles and one shots all about the blooming and ever growing love between Chat Noir and Marinette





	1. Always

“Hey, Princess?”

“Hmm?” she replied, not even looking up from her sketchbook.

“Princess.” he urged.

“What is it, Chat?” she continued to fluidly slide her pencil across the paper, sticking her tongue out and tilting her head.

“Marinette.” he sounded almost nervous.

Usually whenever Chat Noir wanted attention, he would attempt to crawl up in her lap and nuzzle against her neck. He would huff and pout and whine. It never annoyed her; she found it rather endearing actually. He was cute with everything he did. So when he didn't take action to get her focus on him, it caught her attention.

She looked up and was startled by how close he was to her. She hadn't expected it mainly because she hadn't heard him get off of her bed and she didn't hear his voice so close up, but there was something about his expression that made her dismiss that thought. He looked nervous. Chat never looked nervous. On particularly bad days when she could only guess that something had happened in his home somewhere in Paris, he looked broken. He sometimes looked subdued or even dejected, but never nervous. He could always tell her anything without fearing that she would judge him or push him. She was practically his home. His _real_ home. So his nervousness surprised her more than his proximity.

“Chat. . .” Marinette peered into his face. His persona's name slipping off her tongue in a way of encouraging him to speak. To say whatever it was that he needed.

“Marinette I-” he bit his lip in a way that effected her more than she would admit. He tried again. “Marinette could you um. . . maybe-”

He was definitely nervous. Marinette set her sketchbook aside and placed her hands on his cheeks, staring at him with a little smile that told him he could take his time to figure out his words. She could wait and he could say anything. He seemed to understand because he took a slow, deep breath and looked at her once more with renewed, yet slightly wavering, confidence.

“Kiss me.” he said.

It wasn't the words he said that took her back. It was the way he said it. He had told her to kiss him before, with humor and amusement in his eyes. It was the first or second -or even the third!- time he told her to kiss him. But this time, with eyes radiating with hope while his lip trembled with fear, he said it seriously. He looked at her and she could see the desire in his eyes. She could see that he truly wanted her to kiss him. He wanted her to  _kiss_ him. He- he wanted  _her_ to kiss _him_?

It was baffling. Not unsettling or atrocious. Just baffling, because why would he want to kiss her? She was just Marinette. Just simple, ordinary Marinette. No magic, no yoyo, no skintight spandex suit. Just Marinette. But she wasn't blind. She could see the way he was looking at her as she held his cheeks in her hands. He was looking at her as if she were everything he wanted. He was looking at her and he was yearning for her. He was yearning for her lips against his. It was no joke and there was no amusement in gaze. Just deep, deep desire. He wanted her. It was baffling, but who was she to say who he did and didn't want? Who was she to tell him that he couldn't want her when he so clearly did? Who was she to say no when she also wanted him?

So she kissed him.

She gripped his cheeks tighter and brought his face to hers. It was hardly graceful or gentle, the way she practically smashed their faces together. It wasn't the soft kisses they shared in her fantasies, but their lips touched and it was everything she never knew she needed until that moment. He moved his lips against hers after he overcame his initial shock, and suddenly it was more. It wasn't just the touch any longer, but every feeling she felt for him reciprocated through the motion of their mouths. If she were standing, she would have lost all strength in her legs at how much more it was than she ever imagined. Chat was real and this kiss was real. It was all real and it overwhelmed her.

She let her fingers run down to his neck as he gripped her waist and pulled her closer. They were hanging onto each other as if their lives depended on it, as if they had nothing else to hold onto. It was still rough and sloppy, and they still didn't quite know what to do, but they were clinging onto each other with their everything they had.

Chat gently caressed her sides with his claws.

Marinette ran her fingers through his hair.

Chat softened the kiss.

Marinette melted.

Chat realized that he never truly knew how to breathe.

Marinette was his oxygen.

They were kissing and neither could truly believe it, but it had to be real because they had never felt so strongly before. It had to be real because no dream or fantasy could feel so realistic. The pounding of their hearts that pulsated their hands to the point of trembling couldn't be fake. It was all too real.

Marinette slowly pulled away and he lost his breath. She kept her eyes closed and waited. She didn't know what she was waiting for, but it was something. Something that would give her the assurance that it was indeed real, and that she would open her eyes to a dazed Chat Noir and not the ceiling above her bed. She waited, and she got the assurance of a leather clad thumb rubbing her cheeks that were by no doubt crimson red.

“Marinette.” he whispered, and she wouldn't have heard it if they weren't so close. She wouldn't have felt the breath of her name exhale from his lips if their noses weren't brushing together. She kept her eyes closed, simply feeling his presence and his breath.

And suddenly, she was scared.

She had just kissed him. Sure, he asked her to, but she felt like it would change things. She felt like they wouldn't have the same little nights they used to; where she would make them hot chocolate and they would just talk, or watch anime, or simply be with each other. She felt like that kiss -that felt like way more than a mere kiss- had just changed everything. Which was silly, because they would still do the same things they did before. Whether their relationship stayed platonic or not, Chat Noir would still visit and they would still be fine. The kiss made her want something with him more than ever, but she wouldn't push him. Even though he was the one who asked and he was the one who gazed at her with such desire, she was still doubting if he truly wanted her.

He rested his forehead against hers, “Open your eyes, Princess.”

“I don't want to.” she whispered.

“Why not?”

She hesitated. She had no reason to, but she paused a moment. He stayed silent and encouraged her to speak by nuzzling her with a quiet purr. “I don't want to open my eyes, because I don't want my hopes to be let down.” He hummed thoughtfully,

“What are your hopes?”

“For something to be between us. For you to actually want me.” she breathed out the words as if she wanted him to think she had just let out a breath instead of actually saying something. Almost as if she wanted him to miss it.

He didn't.

“Open your eyes.” He said again, but with more urgency. “Please. Look at me, Marinette.” Slowly, she allowed blue to meet green. Wide irises met cat-like slits. She met eyes that were not filled with disappointment, but affection and awe and love.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” The way her name rolled off of his tongue made her shiver. It was firm, but so full of endearment. “I will always, always want you. Cat's honor.” He held her hand with his and pressed it against his heart. She felt the thumping. It felt like it was pounding into her hand violently. “Always.” he whispered as he pecked her nose.


	2. Worth The Risk

 

Adrien had started visiting Marinette just a couple months ago. Well, Chat Noir did. Marinette had no idea it was Adrien. It was nothing big, just a little visit on her balcony every once in a while. It was like that at first. Once a week turned into twice a week, and twice a week turned into whenever he wanted to see her. And let's just say that he wanted to see her a lot.

She never seemed to mind. In fact, she encouraged him to. They liked seeing each other on his random, little visits and they grew closer. Closer than he ever imagine being with her. He was addicted to seeing her dazzling smile and silky hair that she let down before bed. He was addicted to hearing her embarrassed squeaks and jingling laugh.  He was addicted to running his leather clad hands down her arms when they cuddled and kissing her cute, little nose. He was addicted to simply watching her design and listening to her rant about one of her projects and what fabric she needed.  He was addicted to kissing her finger anytime she pricked herself with a needle.  He was addicted to everything that was Marinette. 

He had known that she was amazing, everyone knew she was amazing. It was the reason she was popular and most everybody had a crush on her at one point or another. She was unexplainably amazing in everything she did.  Her clumsiness and her red, blushing cheeks were adorable, but everything else about her was beautiful. She captivated the eyes of many and she didn't even know it. She didn't know the effect she had on people, but that made her even more endearing. Adrien knew all of this, but he didn't truly know until he went to her house and got to know her first hand. She was cute and funny and a lot more confident than he had originally thought. She was so much more than the incredible girl that always shied away from him at school. Amazing didn't even cut it. He still got all goofy and smiley when he thought about how he could go to her house, sneak into her room, and shower her with the every ounce of love he felt for her (and that's a lot of love). He could kiss her and snuggle with her in bed, take cat naps and dance with her and twirl her around to the sound of the crickets outside.  He could argue with her about his OTP in his favorite anime and she would argue back, because she'd watch anime with him. She did the things he liked to do and watched the things he like to watch just because he enjoyed them. Just because she wanted to be with him and let him be a little selfish. 

She always made him feel loved and wanted, because with Marinette, he  _was_ loved. He  _was_ wanted. She made that sentiment clear with every touch and kiss she bestowed upon him. Everything he felt for her was reciprocated. It wasn't the love he held for Ladybug. Yes, he'd always love her, but it was different with Marinette. He couldn't explain it.

A smile found its way on his lips as he walked to his first class. Even though he knew he couldn't do all those things with her as Adrien, he still couldn't wait to see her. Simply setting his eyes on her made his day. Simply seeing her interact with her friends and cast him a shy smile when he greeted her lit up his entire morning. It didn't seem like much to a bystander, but it was enough for him until the moon rose. And he would take what he was given. 

He pushed the door to the classroom open and smiled at his friends before noticing the empty seat beside Alya. 

"Sup, Nino. Hey, Alya." He greeted with a wave as he sat down beside his best friend, "Where's Marinette?"

Alya exchanged a look with Nino as the dj snorted, shaking his head at the apparent inside joke between the two of them. "Mari's sick." Alya answered, "The poor girl woke up feeling awful and couldn't make it."

Marinette was sick?  He hadn't noticed any signs of her being ill when he was with her the night before. His heart ached for her. He hated knowing she wasn't well, and he longed to go to her and see if she was okay. He wanted to make sure she was resting instead of sketching or sewing. He wanted to make sure she took medicine and ate food that would help.  He knew her mom was most likely doing all that, but she was his princess. He wanted to take care of her and lull her to sleep with forehead kisses as he stroked her hair.  It pained him to think that he wouldn't see her all day, and he made up his mind as Mm. Bustier started the lesson. He was going to do exactly that.  He was going to see Marinette.

-

Marinette groaned as she rolled over in bed, mumbling to Tikki about how awful her attendance already was. 

"Oh, Marinette." Tikki sighed sympathetically as she nuzzled the girl's cheek, "You can't help it if you're sick! Besides you'll be better in no time." 

Marinette sighed before smiling at her kwami, "I hope so. Did any of the previous Ladybug's have this problem?" 

"Getting sick?" Tikki giggled.

"Attendance." Marinette chuckled at her companion's apparent sarcasm.

"Every single one missed something." She answered, thinking back to all her precious chosens, "Some missed school, some missed events, some missed church, a couple even missed their wedding!" 

"Their wedding?!" Marinette screeched with a sore throat, immediately regretting it as she began to cough. 

Tikki only laughed, "A superhero has to do what a superhero has to do."

"What did they do? Just leave at the alter?" 

"Hmm one did. Her whole family thought she was running away." Tikki laughed as she reminisced. 

"What about the groom?" Marinette asked curiously, excited to hear a bit more about her predecessors. 

"He left with her. He was Chat Noir, after all." 

Marinette seemed slightly surprised at that. "So…" she hesitated, "Ladybugs and Chat Noirs have gotten married before?" 

The red kwami nodded as a nostalgic look passed through her eyes, softening her features, "Many of them. Too many to count." 

"Do you think- no… never mind." She mumbled as her cheeks turned pink, making it clear to Tikki just what her chosen was thinking. She didn't say anything though, just silently encouraging Marinette to finish the thought. 

"Do you think that… maybe Chat and I would-"  A tapping sound against the skylight above interrupted her, making her jump as Tikki flitted away. 

"Marinette?" A deep, yet soft voice came from the other side. 

Marinette got up and open the trap door, peering at the crouched superhero, "Kitty? What are you doing here?" 

A sheepish smile curved his lips, "Just being the gallant knight that I am and seeing how my princess is doing."

She tilted her head to the side questioningly, "You usually come at night." 

His sheepish grin turn to his usual, flirty smirk, "My princess senses were tingling. I got the sudden feeling you weren't doing too well." 

She laughed, reaching her hand up to flick his nose, "Sure they were, Chaton." 

Before she could pull away or protest, he took her hand in his and kissed her fingertips, "Mind if I come in? I'm sure you could use a certain cat to cuddle with."

She pulled her hand back only to hold his cheek instead, rubbing her thumb on his skin affectionately, "As nice as that sounds, I don't want to get you sick." 

He barked out a laugh, "So?"

Marinette crossed her arms and stared at him incredulously, "So?! You don't want to end up like me, do you?" 

"Paw-lease," he chuckled at his pun as she groaned, "I'd risk getting sick for you." 

She was about to protest once more, but Chat leaned closer to her and pressed his lips to hers in a sweet, chaste kiss, letting his lips linger for just a moment. 

"Now it makes no difference if I come in and cuddle with you or not." He smiled mischievously as she pouted, "I have a chance of getting sick anyway."

She huffed as she let him in, stifling the smile that threatened to overtake her lips. As much as she wanted him to not get ill, she was happy to have him there with her. It was completely unexpected when he had started to visit her as Marinette, but it was even more unexpected when she allowed herself to fall in love with him.  There was a bit of denial initially, but how could she continue to refuse that she loved him when he continued to see her nearly every single night? How could she when his visits became something she looked forward to more than seeing Adrien? She had always seen him as silly and joking, rarely to be taken seriously, but she saw a different side of him when she was Marinette. Something tender and sincere, something that drew her in. His sense of humor was still awful though. 

She had fallen for him harder than she ever did with Adrien, and it shocked her when she found that she was okay with that. She could talk to him and be more herself without stuttering and tripping over herself around him. It was nice, but her heart still pounded when he so much as brushed his hand against hers. Her cheeks still reddened when he kissed her. And she still stuttered whenever he said something particularly sweet.

When he hugged her though, when he laid in bed with her and simply held her, it calmed her down. It settled her nerves and relaxed her. It put her into a trance of something Chat Noir. As if he were a hypnotist making her fall deeper and deeper with every breath they took. She was feeling him put her into his trance once more as he settled under her covers, pulling her body closer until she was flush against him. They were facing each other and he was staring at her with a look that whispered every affectionate feeling and word to her. From his heart to hers. He pressed his forehead against hers and pecked her nose. A small gesture, but it sent a million butterflies in her stomach. Just like every time he did that. He liked kissing her nose for some reason. He never failed to take her breath away.

"It's not my fault if you get sick…" she mumbled as he buried his face into her neck, taking in her scent of vanilla with a chuckle. 

"I'd happily get sick for you, Princess." he said, stroking her hair, "You're worth the risk."

 

-

**Bonus**

 

Alya giggled as Nino kissed her cheek repeatedly, the two of them hardly caring if they were called out on PDA.  They disgusted everyone when they were feeling particularly affectionate. 

Alya's phone rang, sparing everyone around them from Nino's onslaught of kisses Alya pulled away to answer. 

"Hey, Mari." The journalist greeted, "You don't sound so good, are you okay?" 

" _No I woke up feeling sick. I won't be making it to school today."_  The girl on the other end answered in a hoarse voice. 

"Just out of the blue?" 

" _yeah, I didn't even see it coming. Can you send me your notes after school. You know how bad my attendance is already."_

"You're usually not even paying attention to class, so I'd be sending you my notes anyway. You get better okay, girl?" 

Marinette laughed, " _Okay, Alya. I'll see you later._ " 

Alya looked up as Nino looked at her with a questioning gaze, "Is Marinette alright?" 

Alya sighed, "She's sick. It must be pretty bad from the sounds of it." 

"We'll have to go visit her when she starts to feel better." Nino replied, his face contorting into concern before he chuckled.  "When Adrien comes in, I bet he's gonna ask where Marinette is the moment he notices she's not here." 

Alya laughed, agreeing completely before the two went back to breaking nearly every rule the school had set for couples. 


	3. Vanilla

When Chat Noir first started seeing Marinette, he didn't expect much. It was a few days after Nathanaël had been akumatized into Evillustrator, and all he wanted was to see how she was doing, because some of the people who had been targeted by akuma villains were traumatized (well, maybe that was just an excuse to see her). He wanted to see once more of what Marinette Dupain-Cheng was like when she wasn't stuttering and fidgety; when she wasn't around Adrien. She was so different around his alter ego, and he wanted to see more of that. He had expected to embed in his brain all the confidence and sass that she adorned. He had expected to finally figure her out. He hadn't expected to see and love so much more than that.

He had noted that her lips tasted like strawberry chap stick when he first kissed her, and her mouth tasted like chocolate when he delved deeper. It was the perfect combination. So sweet and thrilling on his lips and tongue, so he kept tasting it. Her taste was his drug, and he was an addict all too willing to fall further and further if only to get his next fix. But that wasn't it, there was so much more about Marinette that made her everything he desired to hold for as long as he could; and he would hold her forever. It was the little things like how soft her hands and cheeks were to his touch and how she wrinkled her nose when she was deep in thought, and it was the way she would stick out her tongue when she was sewing or sketching, or how she would tilt her head when trying to figure something out. It was also her unadulterated sass. He loved how she would cock her hip out with her hands on her hips when she was fussing at him (that was also something else he hadn't expected; that he would love being scolded by her). It was how her strikingly blue eyes softened when she looked at him and glittered when she got excited, and even when she looked at him sleepily; eyes clouded with exhaustion and dazed with sleepy confusion. He loved it all. He loved her, and he loved everything that came with Marinette, which was how he found himself breathing in her scent when nothing else would calm him.

He needed someone present to touch and breathe to ease the painful beating of his heart. He needed something and someone he loved without the loneliness that paired with it. He needed reciprocation and a response. He needed something to keep him afloat, so he went to see and taste and smell the one who would offer him refuge and warmth, for he was far too used to, and frankly quite sick of, the cold tiled floors and the chill of his room that froze his heart. It was late at night when Adrien donned his mask and suit, and quickly rushed out of his room, his heart aching as he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. Granted, it was always late at night when he visited Marinette, but it was later this time. The pain of being constantly ignored and rejected by his father often caught up to him on certain nights. He had hidden it and pushed it away for so long that eventually, when he was alone without a chance of disturbance, it came rushing out like a flood from a broken dam. He usually let it out to calm the violent pounding in his chest and the squeezing of his throat, but a certain conversation, a certain anniversary of a certain day, prolonged the suffocation.

“Adrien,” Gabriel had approached him at breakfast, “I wanted to let you know that I am leaving for a business trip in Tibet in just a few hours. You'll have to go alone for our prior . . . arrangement.” He still refused to call it what it was, even after so many years.

“But père. It's-”

“I know what it is.” His father cut him off, “But business is business, and I cannot miss this transaction. I ask of you to be mature about this and understand. I cannot idly stand around thinking about the past when I have things to do in the present.” with that, Gabriel left. He left the room after making the already gloomy day even gloomier. Not only was Adrien reminded of his loss, but he had to be reminded of how alone he was once more. The one day he spent with his father, sad occasion or not, was to be spent without his only parent.

Adrien was quiet for the rest of day. He spoke to no one and looked at no one except for Nino, sparing a glance and a faint smile towards Marinette and Alya (it had gotten easier to talk to Marinette, but it just wasn't the same as Adrien. As much as he wished it was). Every year was difficult to get through as it was, but at least he had his father by his side. He at least stood by his father with pure white irises, the two of them able to silently share the same sentiment. But now, he had no one. He refused to not go, but he only had a tombstone and his own shadow to accompany him. It was hardly ideal, but the whole thing over all, having his father with him or not, wasn't ideal.

School passed by far too slowly. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours, it was usually like that though. It was nothing unusual, but it still bothered him. It was almost as if the pain he carried with him was multiplied on that day. When he was a young child, it was just a mere date. One he would spend as per usual. In recent years though, it signified the day that changed everything. The day both his and his father's lives fell apart.

As slow as it felt, school eventually passed, and he went alone. He walked through the meadow filled with slabs of stone that showed how fleeting life was, that symbolized how quickly the years went by and how the inevitable broke so many hearts connected to a single person. He knew it from experience, but it was that much more evident as he passed the several pairs of dates until he stood in front of the one that tore at his heart the most.

_Beloved wife and mother_

_Antoinette C. Agreste_

_1977-2012_

Adrien held her favorite flowers in his hands, trying his best to not crush the stems with his grip. It hurt every year just as it hurt everyday, and he stood there without breathing the words he wished to tell her. The first few times he cam to her grave, he cried and wheezed out everything he longed to tell her since the day he lost her, but now he said nothing. He knew not what to say to a piece of stone that was most certainly not his mother. He missed her, he wished to talk with her at least once more, but telling the dirt he loved her wasn't enough. He wanted to look into her green eyes and watch them soften like butter near a flame as he told her how much he loved and appreciated her. That wasn't going to happen from where he stood, and after so long, he finally realized that. So he stood there, simply staring and wishing he had someone with him to keep him grounded. His father was away. He hadn't bothered asking Nino to come. So he was left by himself, wishing to say something, but not being able to because of how little difference it would make and the lump in his throat.

He stood. He stared at the tombstone and the words engraved in it. And he left, saving the crying his heart begged to let out for when he was in the solitude of his own room. But even then, it still hurt. He needed something. He needed somebody, so he acted on instinct and ran to the first person who came to mind.

With tears now threatening to spill over, he carelessly landed on Marinette's balcony. He didn't care if he was loud and disturbed her, he was too preoccupied with his thoughts of how bad he needed her. His chest was tight and it hurt to swallow, and he needed those slender arms to hold him and her soft fingers to brush through his hair. He repeated it in his mind like an anthem, he repeated those words like a prayer that moved his mouth without any sound; I need her. I need her. I need her. He couldn't tell whether he was talking about Marinette or his mother, but it hardly matter. He just needed her.

He didn't have a chance to open the skylight before Marinette came peeking through in her sleepy daze. It was late, he reminded himself as she called out to him in an exhaustion-addled voice. “Chat? What are you doing here so late?”

“I-” the one syllable made him choke on a sob, to which her eyes widened as she finally took in his appearance that so clearly showed how he felt; tired and hurting, broken and lonely.

He didn't have to say anymore as she quickly rushed out and led him down to her room. She didn't push, she never did. She just tried her very best to make him comfortable by covering him in blankets and rubbing his back in consolation. She didn't ask questions, and he was thankful for that. He would surely break if he were to say anything else. It had been five years, but it still hurt. It hurt more than ever now that he had grown; now that his mother was unable to see the man he had become. He wanted to, in some way, convey that to Marinette without using words, and he settled with gently grasping her wrist and pulling her towards him. He needed to feel her, so he practically threw himself at her to hear her heart beating against his ears. She was surprised at first. His desperation made her jump, but she let him fall into her as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear and kissing his hair.

He felt her body heat and he heard her breathing. It was the consolation he needed to mend his brokenness. It was the hug that he needed to feel loved again. And he cried. Usually he would dampen his pillow as he brought up every memory of Antoinette Agreste he could, if only to never forget. He would slip out a couple cries and tears when he was alone, but at the relief and deep need for someone to hold him being fulfilled, he cried like a baby. Like the first night he was without her, he cried and whimpered and begged for her to come back. He needed her in his life, he needed her to sing to him again when he was upset. He needed her warm hugs and he needed his mother, dang it. He didn't know what to do without her, and it struck him again how long it had been since he simply made eye contact with her. Even though he didn't know what to do without her, he somehow made it through five years.

Marinette rocked him back and forth like a mother would do their crying child, which wasn't completely inaccurate. He would have mistaken her for his mother if he wasn't so vividly aware that he would never see her again. But he didn't want to think about that. He was tired of crying and writhing. He was tired of being alone, so instead of dwelling on how he would never speak to his mother again, he began to dwell on Marinette. He focused on the feeling of her lips moving against his ear and he focused on the words coming out of them.

_You aren't alone._

_I'm here._

_I won't leave you._

_I'll love you always._

_Just listen to my voice._

They were things she often said to him. They were affirmations. They were reminders. They were the truth. He was never alone so long as he had Marinette. She was always there for him, anywhere and anytime, no matter the circumstance. She would never leave him alone, and she constantly proved that to him time and time again. It was all proof of just how much she loved him, and she always would. She would always love him. He never feared or felt loneliness when he was with her. She was his home, she was his warmth and his hot chocolate on chilly nights. She was everything he needed and she was his comfort.

His tears were merely stains on his cheeks and his sobs were now quiet whimpers dying in his throat. He was regaining his senses, and they were all filled with Marinette, but he needed more. He brought her closer to him as he kissed the corner of her mouth. It was his way of saying everything back to her. He didn't know what exactly he wanted to say, but the simple action conveyed it all. It was this big something that she needed to know. She seemed to get to the memo, because she brought her hands up from his back and ran them through his hair. She loved doing that, and he loved how it felt. He then buried his nose in her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist to feel her closer. His grip was tight on her, as if he were afraid she would disappear, but he knew she wouldn't. She promised.

He nuzzled against her and deeply inhaled, breathing in her intoxicating scent. She smelled of vanilla. Not vanilla shampoo or perfume, but real vanilla. It reminded him of the pastries she often gave him and the birthday cakes his mother had always made him. It was sweet, and it calmed him. His heart beat became steady as he took in another breath of her fragrance. He loved how she smelled, so he held onto to her and breathed her. It was like the first time they kissed when he thought about how she was his oxygen, and he never knew how to breathe before her. It was true, because before he felt like he was suffocating, but now he had the air that kept him alive. Maybe he was creeping her out by smelling and sniffing her, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. It was keeping him sane.

With only a few sniffles here and there, the silence consumed them as they held each other. They were overtaken by each other, and they allowed themselves revel in it. She relished in the feeling of his body against hers, and he relished in her vanilla scent that made it evident that she was nearer than anyone else in his life. He could feel her. He could feel her love for him. He wasn't alone. Not anymore.

He would never again have his mother to embrace, and maybe his father would never love him the way he longed to be love, but he was alright so long as he had Marinette. That didn't mean the pain went away and it certainly didn't mean that he was completely mended, but he was on the path to healing. All he needed was love and the sweet smell of Vanilla.


	4. When She's Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabine Cheng liked to observe. It was how she grew accustomed to life in Paris, it was how she met the love of her life, and it was how she knew that her daughter was hiding something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little bit different, but I had a lot of fun writing from Sabine's point of view. Though this is my first time writing Sabine, I like how it turned out. I hope you do, too!

Sabine Cheng was a very attentive woman. She had to be when she first moved to Paris, when the language was as unfamiliar to her as the land the moment she stepped out of the airplane from China. When she could not communicate and she didn't know what to do, she observed. She looked to the Parisians around to guide her in learning the culture, and she looked at the mouths that were moving with the flow of their strange words.

She did learn the language and the ways of French people, but the habit never left her. Even after she knew what to do and she no longer questioned how to go about everyday life, she continued to watch people. She continued to memorize their behavior and analyze their every word, even after she knew what they meant. It was how she got through life. It was even how she met her husband.

The tall, burly man intrigued her as she observed his life. He could easily be intimidating if he scowled and looked down on somebody, she thought the first day she visited the new bakery on her street, but he did nothing of the sort. He hummed gleefully as he cleaned the counters and he had this big smile whenever somebody complimented his pastries. He crouched down at a child's level and joked around with them, easily making both the child and their parents laugh. She enjoyed watching him, so she kept going to his bakery. It wasn't that she had a sweet tooth, she was just drawn to him and his way of living. He was kind, she could tell just by the way he went about talking to people. She could tell by the look in his eyes. She could tell by the soft look he gave her every time she walked into the bakery.

Sabine Cheng, even after learning the tongue and culture of France, liked to observe. It was how she grew accustomed to life in Paris, it was how she met the love of her life, and it was how she knew that her daughter was hiding something.

It all started on the first day of school when akuma, super villains, and superheroes suddenly turned up. Marinette looked at the TV showing the people who had been turned into stone with what anyone would see as fear, but not Sabine. Sabine knew what fear looked like, and Marinette looked like she was feeling something else. She looked like she was uncertain and anxious, ashamed even. She couldn't place a reason why her daughter looked that way, so she dismissed it as fear, hoping everything would be okay.

Needless to say, her strange behavior didn't change, but it instead increased. Marinette became more secretive and jumpy, like she was hiding the biggest secret of her life. She ran off at random times and came back looking exhausted. She wasn't sleep at night, if the clunking around Sabine heard at ungodly hours and dark circles under her eyes the next morning was anything to go by. Then Marinette was eating more. Cookies, to be exact. She would sneak some into her bag when she thought nobody was looking.

She was a growing girl going through a delicate stage in her life, of course she was bound to behave differently once she hit puberty, but Sabine couldn't help but think that wasn't quite it. The possibility of her being pregnant crossed her mind, but she knew her daughter. If she was pregnant, she would have told them (and there was the fact that she could hardly speak to the boy she liked). Something was going on, but the older woman couldn't figure it out. She decided she wasn't going to give herself a headache by trying to figure out what her daughter was up to. If Marinette wanted to tell them, she would. It wouldn't be right to snoop around and invade the young teens privacy because of suspicions. Sabine trusted her. She knew she would do the right thing, and she would tell them when the time came.

So Sabine carried on and it all became the norm. Marinette's increasingly poor attendance was a concern, but nothing more. That is until on one night when she woke up with a dry mouth and went to the kitchen for a glass of water, she heard the faint sound of voices. Maybe she was on the phone, Sabine thought, but who would be up at three in the morning on a school night? Then she thought she might be watching TV, but Sabine couldn't think of Marinette mentioning any show she liked enough to watch it into the late hours of night (or early hours of morning). That was a silly thought though. Marinette didn't tell her everything like she used to when she was eight, so it wouldn't be strange for her to simply watch a TV show without her mother's knowledge.

The woman sighed and began to walk upstairs to tell her daughter to go to sleep. Whatever she was hiding, she didn't want it to effect her health and sleep pattern. She was halfway up the steps when she heard a deep laugh.

“Stop laughing, it isn't funny!” she stopped just before she was about to knock. The laughing continued and Marinette groaned.

“I'm sorry, Princess.” Who was Marinette talking to? “You're just too cute for your own good.”

“You're such a flirt.” she responded. She definitely wasn't watching TV, that was for sure.

“No, I'm just honest.” he chuckled tenderly, “You're cute, Marinette. You're irresistibly adorable. Everything I say to and about you is just the truth.”

“Every word?” she asked.

“Would I lie to you?”

“No,” her voice made it clear that she was smiling, “You wouldn't.”

Any parent would be scared out of their mind if they heard an unknown man talking to their daughter at three in the morning, and Sabine was no exception. Her heart began to pound the moment she heard them talking, but as the conversation progressed, she noticed how harmless it was. Was she happy that the thing her daughter had been hiding was a boy she had somehow gotten into the house at night? No, definitely not, but she found the way they spoke to each other to be endearing and sweet. It wasn't the words they said, but the way they said them. One could call it tender or caring, but Sabine found the way they spoke to each other to be something she was very familiar with. They spoke with unwavering trust and affection, and something more. Sabine knew, for it was the same way she and Tom often spoke to each other. It was still tender and it was caring, but with a little something else that tied it all together.

“So would you believe me if I told you. . . if I told you that I love you?”

That's what it was. Love. It wasn't the fleeting sensation of fluttery emotions young people often labeled as love, but instead the real love that was built from respect and faith. It was from a friendship that led them to the path of a strong relationship.

Marinette gasped, not saying a word and most likely just staring at the boy.

“Marinette. Princess.” his voice shook, but he continued, “Would you believe me if I told you that you are the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of at night?”

“That's- That is so cheesy.” Marinette choked out with a chuckle.

The boy only laughed, “And would you believe me if I told you that you are what I think of all day in between?”

“I can certainly believe that those cliché words would come out of your mouth.”

She was avoiding the question, and Sabine tutted in her mind (while also vaguely wondering why she was just standing there listening instead of discovering who this mystery boy was and why they couldn't just talk in the morning).

“Mari. . .”

Marinette sighed, “You know I believe you, but. . . why? Why would you love me?”

“Why wouldn't I love you?” he almost sounded hurt.

Marinette took a moment and the silence washed over them. As Marinette was trying to find the right words and the boy waited, Sabine wondered just how long this had been going on. Surely not ever since that day when she first started acting strange. That was almost a year ago, but . . . it made sense. The staying up later than usual and disappearances, getting so many snacks and acting as if she was hiding something. It made sense. Though Sabine tried to find it in her to be angry, she couldn't. It had been twenty years since she met Tom and fell in love, but it felt it was just a few days ago that she was gazing into his chocolate eyes and laughing at the way he flailed around as he tried to impress her. It felt like just a few days ago when the voice that resonated against the walls of her heart uttered those three words that the boy in her daughter's room was trying to convey.

She should have been upset and she should have confronted them, but she didn't. Though she didn't know the boy, she knew Marinette. She was a good girl and a good judge of character. If she trusted him, so would Sabine.

“It's not that I don't think I'm worthy of being loved.” Marinette's voice broke through the silence, “I know I can be clumsy and oblivious and too quick to act at times, but my questioning how you feel about me has nothing to do with that. I am proud of who I am and I know that there is nothing wrong with me despite my flaws. I just-” she paused and took a breath, “I guess I'm not used to my feelings being. . . requited.”

“That makes sens- wait, what?”

Sabine smiled.

“Hmm?” Marinette teased, albeit slightly nervously.

“Did you just- Princess, did you just say that you feel the same way?”

Marinette giggled, “Would you believe me if I did?”

The boy laughed happily as Marinette yelped, and Sabine chuckled quietly to herself.

“Minou, put me down!” Marinette laughed with him.

“You do! You really do feel the same!”

“Shh! You're gonna wake up my parents.”

“Tell me.” he said, “Tell me you love me.”

“I-” she sounded nervous, “I can't believe I'm saying this. . .”

“Please, Marinette. I need to hear it. I need to know it's true.”

“I. . . I love you.” She whispered.

“Again.”

“I love you.” she said a bit louder, with more confidence.

“Again.” he urged.

Marinette tickled the air with the sweet sound of her laugh, putting emphasis on each word as she giggled, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“And I love you.” he breathed out, as if they were the only things his lungs desired to ever breathe, as if he had been holding them in for so long.

They continued to talk and shower each other with words of sheer adoration, but Sabine didn't hear it. She wasn't going to walk in and destroy such a precious moment. She wasn't going to speak and disturb their words, so she just walked away and went back to bed. She didn't like that her daughter had been, and still was, hiding someone from her, but it was okay. She trusted Marinette, and Sabine had no doubt in her mind that she would tell them when she was ready.


	5. For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Marinette," he murmured against her neck, "would you die for me?"

 

Chat Noir never really told Marinette anything about his home life, and if he did it was always vague. He never went into detail; just a simple “It's so lonely over there” or even “Why can't anyone love me as much I love them?” He never explained and he never told her anything except what he was feeling, and she was okay with that. He didn't have to tell her his life story, and she wouldn't ask him to. Though his secret identity played a big part, it had less to do with that and more to do with the fact that she wouldn't push him into telling her if he wasn't ready to. She trusted his ability to keep his identity safe, so she knew that if he did tell her anything more, he would make sure she would never be able to guess who he was. She didn't have to worry about that, she just wished she could do something for her hurting kitty.

Even going through the pain of his life, he was smart. He never let his emotions jeopardize anything, which concerned her more than it assured her. Sometimes she found herself wishing she could forget the consequences of knowing each other's identities if only to help, but she knew that wasn't an option.

It was one of those nights. It was one of those nights when a quiet tap to her skylight broke through the silence of her bedroom. She would grant him permission to enter and he would drop down, snuggling up to her while trying to collect the pieces of his broken heart.

He once told her that his heart was always broken, that there was always a hole that he was constantly trying to fill. Everything he tried, video games, fiction, work, school, money, it never worked. There was always something he needed that he never had. Though he knew this, he knew that anything he tried wouldn't work because he would forever be without that missing piece, he was always trying to fill in that hole.

It was one of those nights, and Marinette could feel her heart aching for him as he silently slid beside her beneath the covers. He didn't say anything. He just slowly breathed in a ragged breath and let it out with a flurry of emotions as the warmth of her body calmed him. Something happened to him, and though she found herself wanting to ask, she didn't. She merely wound her arms around him and breathed with him, almost as if she were reminding him how.

She didn't know how long they laid together like that, nor did she really care. She was perfectly content with playing in his hair and whispering how much she loved him in an attempt to distract him. It was something that pushed the pain aside, but it was still there. It always was, and she could tell by how his grip on her was still tight and how he still had to focus on his breathing. But for the most part, it worked, and she would do whatever she could.

“Marinette.” he murmured against her neck. She hummed in response, letting him know that she was listening. “Would you die for me?”

He caught her by surprise. He was always, somehow, able to do that. When she thought nothing could shock her anymore, he proved her wrong. Just like how she thought he wouldn't love Marinette over Ladybug, and how she thought he was just always happy and goofy, he yet again proved her wrong.

She didn't ask him what brought the question about, but instead took a moment to think about it. Would she die for him? If he was dying and she had a chance to take his place, would she do it? Would she honestly allow herself to die in his stead?

“No.” she answered, “No, I wouldn't.”

He didn't pull away and look at her like she just betrayed him, he only held her tighter as she felt his breath hitch. He wasn't going to say anything, so she continued.

“Would I rather die instead of you? Take a bullet that was meant for you, so to speak? Yeah, I would most definitely do that, but it wouldn't be for you. I would rather die instead of you because I don't want to live without you. It would be more for myself, if I'm being honest.”

Rarely was dying for someone an act of  _pure_ selflessness. It always had something to do with what someone wanted, what someone didn't want. Marinette felt that if someone were to die for another person, it had to do with not wanting to live without that person or not wanting to live a life of guilt because they chose their own life over someone else's. Was she saying dying for someone, or the thought of dying for someone, was completely selfish? Was she saying that it was wrong? Far from it, but she knew that it wasn't completely for someone else either.

Marinette would die instead of Chat because she knew that she wouldn't be able to live without him by her side. She didn't want to 'find peace' with his death simply because she learned how to live without him. Maybe it was a flawed mindset to think that it was more for ones self than another, but that's how it was for her. She wouldn't die for Chat, she would die for herself.

Marinette brushed her lips against his temple, finding that the way he sighed into her touch made her heart flutter and melt in the most pleasant of ways, “Life is cruel and gruesome and painful. I often feel like I would rather die than go through, well, life. I wouldn't die for you. That's too easy; it would hardly be for you if it were easy. And, for the most part, I'm not afraid of death. It's not something that frightens me.” and it was true. Marinette had been in many moments as Ladybug where she came face to face with death. It didn't scare her, not anymore.

Marinette felt that doing something for someone else wasn't suppose to be an easy thing. Doing something entirely for another person is something that goes against her own desires and wants. It's hard, because she's pushing away everything she wants for the sake of someone else. “I wouldn't die for you, Chat. I would live for you, because even though living sucks and it's hard at times, if you told me to live when I wanted to die, I would do it. I would live for you.”

Chat was silent, seeming to be taking in her words. She let him. She didn't need a response, she just wanted to let him know that she would do something that scared her and went against everything she wanted if he asked her to. She loved him, after all. She loved and trusted him, and she would give up the things she desired for him.

“I'd die for you.” he said.

“Yeah?” Marinette replied with fondness in her voice.

“Death terrifies me, Marinette. I've seen what it does and I want no part of it. I don't want to die, but I would die for you.”

He pulled her closer to him, nuzzling his nose in her neck and peppering little kisses on her skin. She giggled, taking in the sensation of his lips, his hair, his touch, him. She brushed out the tangles in his wind swept, messy hair and felt the rumbling in his chest as purrs seeped into his kisses.

She would live for him just as he would die for her. Marinette was yet again reminded of how he completed her, of how she completed him. Good luck and bad luck. Creation and destruction. Life and death. They were perfectly opposite of each other.


End file.
